Crossroads

by Jeanne C. Stein

  My goal is of no concern to you. I am only here to offer you a gift. Not to debate what might happen if you choose to accept it.

  I can’t believe Chael doesn’t see the irony in that statement. If I accepted this “gift,” and a new Chosen One is swayed by Chael’s vision, or even worse, Chael assumes the title himself, life as we know it for mortals is over. They become as cattle, relegated to gulags, existing only to serve their vampire masters.

  Except for one small detail. I know the plan. Even as a human, I might be able to fight it.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. What he proposes is not possible; planning countermeasures, ridiculous.

  Chael cannot read these thoughts. He watches my face, suspicious of a mind suddenly as impenetrable as the steel in my gaze.

  I turn away from him, moving to the other side of the room, putting distance between us as if that will help me sort conflicted emotions. To be human again. To be with my family. To love anyone I wish. To stop hiding what I am. To be free of the hunger.

  It isn’t possible? Is it?

  Feelings I’ve relegated to the past well up, swamping my senses, radiating though the barrier between us and giving Chael the opening he seeks.

  You are tempted. I feel it. You can’t hide the passion. You want what once was. I will tell you what I know. Then it is up to you.

  I face him. Shutting down the fierce longing that betrayed me takes such effort, my body shakes. But my thoughts are cold, clinical when I open my mind.

  Tell me.

  Chael now finds it difficult to control his own eagerness—excitement that I am asking, anticipation of all that he hopes to come burns from his eyes. He can’t suppress his passion any more than I could.

  He lives among the Navajo. A shaman.

  And how do I find him?

  Ah. That is easy. You ask your shape-shifter friend, Daniel Frey.

  How would he know of this miracle worker?

  He does not know him. But he knows where to find him. With his son.

  I remember well the first time I learned that Daniel Frey had a son. Frey was preparing me for what I would face at the assembly of the Thirteen Tribes. He dropped the nugget that he had a son as casually as one would shake a pebble from a shoe. After recovering from the shock of such a startling revelation, it took some wheedling to get any information at all about this unexpected and stunning news. The little I got was sketchy at best.

  The kid was four.

  He lived with his Navajo mother in Monument Valley.

  Frey didn’t see him very often—to protect his identity as the one to inherit Frey’s mantle as Keeper of Secrets when the time comes.

  That Chael knows of him is not reassuring.

  How do you know about Frey’s son?

  I try to keep the alarm from my tone, but Chael picks up on it. I mean the child no harm. The Keeper of Secrets is an important and revered position that benefits all supernaturals.

  Even if I were to believe Chael’s words, a question still remains. What happens to those supernaturals, vampire or not, who do not share Chael’s vision for his new world order? I have no doubt he would exterminate them as ruthlessly as he vowed to exterminate any creature who will not bend to his will.

  Once again, Chael watches me, his piercing eyes and laser-like mind trying to rend the barrier I’ve erected between us. I know whatever I decide, the first thing I have to do is get Frey’s child to safety.

  Chael stirs, irritated that I have shut myself off from him. I open my mind.

  You have delivered your message. Now get out.

  Suspicion darkens his thoughts. What are you going to do?

  You will know when I’m ready. How do I get in touch with you?

  He brightens. I am staying with an old friend of yours, Judith Williams. You can reach me at her home.

  Judith Williams? It figures. And it explains a lot. I’m sure she took great pleasure in reading Chael the newspaper article that detailed what happened in the supermarket. I’m also sure she provided her own editorial comments along the way. Did she mention the game she played with David on Sunday?

  Another whore. I wonder what her husband, whom you claimed to be a friend, would think of your alliance.

  Chael inspects his fingernails. He would not approve. To either my plan or my fucking his wife. She has been set free under my tutelage. A willing and talented student.

  I’ll bet. Do you plan to dispose of her when you are through with her education?

  Now he meets my eyes. No. When the time comes, I expect you will do that for me.

  Chael’s last sardonic remark touches a nerve. He doesn’t expect a reply. I don’t give him one. He knows the truth. If she gave me cause, I would kill Judith Williams without a second thought. But I will not do it at Chael’s bidding.

  I cross to the front door, unlock it, hold it open. Give Judith a message for me. Tell her to leave David alone. If she speaks to him again, her days as your playmate may be over sooner than you expect.

  Chael departs without response, his bearing regal, a Middle Eastern prince whose fiefdom is comprised not of land but of control over thousands of the most powerful creatures on earth.

  I watch him walk down the sidewalk to Mission Boulevard. A discreet black Mercedes pulls up at his approach, a rear door opens from the inside. As he climbs in, Judith Williams’ pale face stares back at me.

  I wonder if she knows she’s consorting with death.

  CHAPTER 12

  I’VE JUST STEPPED OUT OF THE SHOWER WHEN I hear the trill of my cell phone from downstairs.

  I choose not to answer it. The way the last couple of days have gone, it can’t be anything good. If it’s Stephen, he’ll leave a message.

  Besides, the person I need to talk to right now is Daniel Frey. To tell him of my conversation with Chael and to warn him that the existence of his son is not the well-kept secret he thought it was.

  And to broach the subject of the shaman.

  To become human again.

  The idea fills me with excitement. At the same time, the logical part of my brain screams to put on the brakes. Nothing Chael says can be trusted.

  I towel dry my hair, slip into clean clothes and start downstairs.

  Then I remember—and retrace my steps to shut and bolt the slider. Of course, any vampire worth his fangs could break that door without breaking a sweat, but may as well not make it too easy.

  The message light on my kitchen phone is flashing. My cell phone is chirping. Shit. Whoever is trying to get in touch with me is persistent to say the least.

  I ignore the landline and reluctantly pull up the cell’s voice mail messages. There are three. The first from a cautiously optimistic David. Test results were negative for STDs and preliminary HIV screenings though those tests have to be repeated in six months. At least he can have sex now. With protection, of course. He’s decided not to spill his guts to Miranda.

  And, “Oh, by the way, glad you and Tracey are okay. Nice plug for the business.”

  Plug for the business? I suspect that might have something to do with the newspaper article Chael was reading this morning. Either the reporter connected my name to our business or Tracey mentioned it.

  Doesn’t matter. The important thing is there is no need to call David back.

  The second is from Tracey: checking in to thank me again and to warn me about the press interest in the story. She and her sister were hounded until she finally gave in and arranged a press conference scheduled for this afternoon. Did I want to participate? Might get the hounds off my trail.

  This is easy. I send Tracey a text—

  Go ahead w/o me. Tell the reporters I’ve left town.

  A finger jab on Send and it’s on its way.

  The last from Harris. A simple, “Call me.”

  A finger jab on Delete and that’s on its way, too, to the great voice mail landfill in the sky. If Harris really wanted to talk to me, he’d be on my doorstep. There is precedent.


  Then I’m on my way out the door. I debate calling Frey first to let him know I’m coming, but he’s teaching summer school and if I time it right, I’ll catch him before class starts.

  IT’S AN ODD FEELING, WALKING ON THE CAMPUS where my mother was principal until her resignation a few months ago. Eerie because of the quiet. There are only a handful of classes offered during summer session; budget cutbacks trimmed all but the essentials. Frey’s English Lit class is offered because of demand. He’s such a popular teacher, even six classes a day during the regular school year can’t accommodate all the students who want to take it.

  It’s not quite eight, but as I suspected, Frey is already on campus, cloistered in his cubbyhole of an office at the front of the room.

  Memories flood back as I watch him. He isn’t aware of my presence, his back half turned to the door as he pores over papers on his desk, a pencil in one hand, a mug in the other. It was at that desk I first learned that Frey was a shape-shifter and exactly what that meant. I hadn’t been a vampire very long and everything about my new existence was frighteningly exotic, including the knowledge that creatures like Frey, a panther in his other shape, and like me, walk among mortals undetected. I soon learned though, that while there is plenty of evil in the world, Frey is one of the good guys.

  He should be able to sense my presence. Like Culebra, he should be able to read my thoughts and I, his. But I broke our psychic connection when I attacked him months ago. I thought he was an enemy. I was wrong. Now the link that binds us is more human than supernatural—it’s friendship.

  I tilt my head, study him. Frey is handsome, fortysomething, his dark hair touched on the sides with gray. He has a quality about him—trustworthy, strong. Must be that square jaw, those serious dark eyes. It’s no wonder he’s so popular with his students. I imagine he has to fend off at least one serious crush a semester. And not only from female students. I wonder how his girlfriend Layla handles the competition.

  Chael’s face swims to the surface of my consciousness, chasing away such mundane musings and bringing me sharply back to the reason for this visit.

  I walk up behind Frey and tap his shoulder. I should have made more noise. He is so startled he jumps to his feet, sending the chair flying and a stream of coffee sloshing over the sides of the mug and onto the desk. When he sees me, those serious dark eyes flash with anger.

  “Jesus, Anna. Where did you come from?”

  “So much for catlike reflexes.” I grab up a bunch of napkins piled beside the coffeemaker on his bookcase and use them to sop up the mess on the desk. “What were you working on with such concentration?”

  He pushes my hand away and takes over clean up. “Final exam essays. One of which”—he holds up an inkblurred, coffee-stained page—“is ruined. Now what?”

  “That lucky kid gets an A.”

  Frey shoots me a look of exasperation, but the anger soon passes and a smile cracks the shell of irritation. He tosses the napkins into a trash can near the office door and comes around the desk.

  “Wondered when you’d drop in.” He peers into my face. “Are you all right?”

  My back stiffens. Why does everyone keep asking me that?

  Frey sees the reaction. “Got asked that a lot lately, huh?”

  “Too damned many times.”

  He leans back against the filing cabinet. “Well, maybe if you didn’t shut yourself off from your friends, we wouldn’t have to ask.”

  There is a sharp edge to his tone. I deserve it. He’s right. Two months ago, he put his own life on hold to help me prepare to meet my destiny. Except for a brief phone call to let him know I survived, we haven’t spoken since.

  I try to make light of the situation. “I figured after being cloistered with me for three days, you’d be happy not to hear from me for awhile. I’m sure Layla was.”

  Frey’s expression changes, aggravation to a look I recognize. I wince. “Uh-oh. What’s up? Trouble in paradise?”

  His eyes slide away.

  Guilt wiggles its niggling little fingers. “Because of me?”

  Frey moves again, back to his chair behind his desk. “We’re taking a break.”

  “Because of me.” No question this time.

  “Because of a lot of things.”

  Vague. Shit.

  “I’m sorry, Frey.”

  He meets my eyes this time. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. We both did what needed to be done. If Layla can’t accept our friendship …”

  He leaves the sentence unfinished, words fading away like smoke in a breeze.

  His eyes, though, are sad, and I know in spite of what he said, I am the reason for their breakup. I don’t know what to say or do. I never liked Layla, but he obviously did.

  I wish I were more like my mother. She would know how to comfort him. I lack those instincts. A physical threat I know how to handle. An emotional hurt, my head swims with indecision. I can only stand here like a fucking idiot and stare.

  “Well,” I say in a stammering attempt to jump-start the conversation. “There is a reason I’m here. I have something I need to discuss with you.”

  He glances behind me into the classroom and checks his watch. “The bell is going to ring in ten minutes. Can it wait until after class?”

  For the first time I’m aware of shuffling feet outside the office door. Students are filing into the room. “Sure. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot. We can go to the cottage.”

  He picks up a pair of glasses from the desk and waggles them at me. “No need to wait. I’ll meet you there. I drive now.”

  The only carryover between Frey’s physical and metaphysical selves is the feline inability to distinguish a broad spectrum of colors. Made driving difficult. Layla (also a feline shape-shifter) came up with a special lens that corrects the defect.

  I acknowledge the glasses with nod. At least he has something to show for the broken relationship. Something other than a broken heart.

  CHAPTER 13

  FREY IS AT MY DOOR EXACTLY AN HOUR AND A HALF later. I have coffee brewing and a couple of hamburgers in the microwave. I picked them up on the way home. Panthers are, after all, carnivores.

  I set them on the kitchen table.

  Frey eyes the burger. “Thanks. I’m starved.”

  I take the seat opposite him and watch as he eats. Makes my salivary glands jump into overdrive. I do miss a good burger. And chocolate.

  But I’m stalling.

  Frey seems to know it. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks at me over his coffee mug. “So. What’s up?”

  Now that he’s here and asking, I’m not sure how to begin.

  “It’s about your son.”

  Frey lowers the mug, alarm tightening the lines around his mouth. “What about my son?”

  “I thought no one knew of his existence.”

  “No one does. Outside of this room.”

  I push at his plate. “I met someone this morning who does.”

  The alarm in Frey’s expression escalates. His hands crush the napkin into a ball. “Who?”

  When I tell him of Chael, who he is and how he orchestrated the challenge that resulted in Lance’s death, the alarm becomes fear. “Why would he talk to you about my son? Was he threatening him? Threatening you?”

  “No. Not at all. In fact, he said he meant your son no harm. He said the Keeper of the Secrets was a revered position in the supernatural community. I think he was sincere.” As sincere as Chael was capable of being anyway.

  “So then why mention him?”

  Here’s the tricky part. I tell Frey about our conversation. About the shaman who could supposedly restore a vampire to mortal state. About how this miracle worker lived on the same reservation as Frey’s son.

  When I finish, Frey is quiet. He’s slouched against the back of the chair, eyes downcast, as if trying to distance himself from me. I don’t blame him. I seem to bring nothing but trouble.

  I let a moment pass and another and when his silence
presses on, I break it with, “A shaman who can restore mortality. Is such a thing possible?”

  He raises his eyes. “Does it matter?”

  “Truthfully, I’m not sure.”

  Frey looks up. “Then what do you want to do?”

  “I think we should go to the village. Check on your son.”

  “I thought you said you believed that Chael meant him no harm?”

  “I did. I do. Still—”

  “You don’t completely trust him, do you?”

  “No.”

  Icy resolve narrows Frey’s eyes. “And you want to check this shaman out.”

  “Yes.”

  “When do you want to go?”

  “When can you go?”

  “Today was the last day of summer school. I have two weeks before I have to prepare for fall classes. How about tomorrow morning?”

  “I can have the jet ready to go anytime you are.”

  He shakes his head. “We’ll drive.”

  He’s already risen from the table. I do, too. “Drive?”

  “It’s a beautiful part of the country. Ever been there?”

  I shake my head.

  “No time like the present to appreciate it.”

  “Do you want to drive or shall I?”

  Frey slips the black-framed, amber-lensed glasses over his eyes. “I’ll drive. See you in the morning.”

  I SPEND A RESTLESS NIGHT. PLEASANT THOUGHTS OF how my life would change if I became mortal again ricochet around in my head until I’m dizzy with it. Chief among them is the kind of life I could have with someone like Stephen. I could go with him on assignment and not risk someone noticing that I cast no reflection or don’t seem to eat anything. I could visit my parents anytime I want. Take Trisha shopping and not have to avoid mirrors. Simple things. Little things.

  But the responsibility I’d accepted as the Chosen One beats its own counterpoint. Chael would not offer a gift unless he was the one benefiting from it. And if he benefits from it, all those pleasant scenarios might become very short-lived. The world as we know it would cease to exist.